


If Wishes Were Horses: An Eighth-Year Tale

by eilonwy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bets & Wagers, F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, Magic, Magical Artifacts, Romance, Roommates, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2685812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eilonwy/pseuds/eilonwy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wishes have a nasty habit of backfiring, as Draco discovers.  And just deserts can be a bitch.</p><p>Written for the 2014 round of Dramione_Duet on LJ.  My gift recipient expressed a preference for voyeurism and exhibitionism in his requested prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Wishes Were Horses: An Eighth-Year Tale

November 1998

 

 

He hadn’t intended for it to happen. He’d never have chosen it voluntarily. How often had he said, with a sneer and a nasty snicker, that he wouldn’t wish such a thing on his worst enemy? And yet, that very thing had come back to haunt him. If he were a believer in the notion of just deserts, he’d have to admit that he’d certainly got his. 

In spades.

He was eighteen years old, healthy, good-looking, intelligent, magically gifted – and obsessed. 

With Hermione Granger. 

He didn’t like her. That hadn’t changed. She still annoyed the crap out of him on a daily basis. But sometime between fifth year and the start of the eighth, something had changed, and Draco wasn’t sure whether it was Granger herself or if something very serious had happened to his mental faculties.

She had been a thorn in his side for years. That gnarly, little thorn had burrowed ever more deeply over time, to the point where it was beyond being a mere irritant. Somehow, it had transformed itself into a bizarre fascination. For one thing, he found himself thinking about her far too much, though it had taken Blaise pointing that out for him to realise the full extent to which she occupied his waking thoughts. Never mind that the thoughts were often critical and carping; apparently, by sixth year, every one of his friends had twigged to the fact that he had a thing for her. Weird, yes. Unfathomable and definitely surprising. But clearly, he fancied her, no matter what actual words were coming out of his mouth. 

His dreams, on the other hand, had been a whole other, much more colourful matter, something his house mates had been quick to point out. Their imitations of him in the throes of a really good dream were always good for a laugh or two amongst themselves, especially the bits where he was moaning her name in apparent agony. Whether she was the cause or the cure, they couldn’t tell.

And now, here they both were, back at Hogwarts for their eighth year, along with a number of others in their class preparing to sit their NEWTs, and all he could think about were the soft, little curls at the nape of her neck when she wore her hair up (sitting behind her had definite advantages), or the tiny, pale freckles sprinkled fetchingly across her nose, or her peaches-and-cream complexion. Those big, brown eyes of hers, their maddeningly long, curly lashes sweeping her cheeks. That pink, rosebud mouth begging to be kissed. (Exquisite torture, watching her unconsciously bite that lush lower lip when she was concentrating!) And that _hair_. Merlin, he was dying to bury his hands in its unruly mass, or better yet, his entire face. The scent of it alone was already driving him half-mad, all fruity and freshly beguiling. Most enticing of all, though, was the thought of undressing her in all manner of scenarios, her lacy, white knickers (they were always lacy and white) pooling provocatively about her ankles. It was a delicious image, compelling and completely irresistible, forbidden fruit simply begging to be sampled.

Hermione Granger had become a persistent itch that ever more desperately needed scratching. Something had to give, and soon.

 

*

 

 

Minerva McGonagall peered at the two of them over her spectacles, perched precariously on the bridge of her long, thin nose.

“I trust, Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy, that thus far, you have found working together as Heads sufficiently challenging without the experience being an acrimonious one?”

It was the third monthly meeting with the Headmistress since the beginning of term, and both Hermione and Draco were anxious to leave. There were loads of things that needed her attention, the Head Girl knew – homework and a variety of house duties – and she was eager to get cracking. The meeting had gone on far too long already, and quite frankly, she had no interest in a detailed analysis of the dynamic she shared with Draco Malfoy. She darted a glance at him and sighed. Even if she might wish it otherwise, it was what it was, and anybody with two eyes in their head could describe it.

The Head Boy’s concerns were of a somewhat different nature, although he would have agreed with Granger on that last point. It was the second of November, the day after Samhain, and the first Monday of the month. Slytherin House tradition demanded that all students (of the male persuasion) above fifth year get well and truly pissed on Black Monday, as it was known, consuming a serious quantity of liquid spirits in order to close the veil between worlds that had been opened and properly see off the ghostly spirits who had come to call. (“Spirits and spirits, heh heh,” Goyle chortled as he did every year, never failing to find his own rather obvious pun amusing and always the only one laughing.) The more shitfaced the better, that was the rule, so that not even the strongest hangover potion could cure what ailed them. The other part of this tradition mandated that all participants draw straws, the unlucky winner of the short straw being assigned a task that had to be satisfied within a given time period. The task itself would have been democratically voted on beforehand, and once selected, could not be refused or modified in any way. 

Draco was eagerly anticipating Black Monday’s activities. He’d informed Granger well in advance that their common room was his for the night and that she could take herself, her books, and any disapproving commentary elsewhere for the duration of the festivities. He agreed not to leave any vomit behind, at least not where she could find it. Black Monday would serve an additional purpose this year; it would be a panacea for what ailed _him_ , he fervently hoped, serving to blot out thoughts of Granger’s nubile young body for the space of a few hours, at least. What he wanted was blessed relief, the oblivion promised by several really good, stiff belts of industrial-strength firewhiskey. 

Right now, though, Headmistress McGonagall was waiting for a reply, one eyebrow arched expectantly. 

Hermione hastened to reassure her. “Oh yes, we’ve been working together very well, _haven’t_ we, Malfoy?” She delivered a small, glancing kick to his ankle, smiling sweetly as she did so.

“Just like two peas in a pod,” he said, glaring at her briefly and then reaching down to rub the sore ankle. “ _Loads_ of fascinating challenges.”

The older woman pursed her lips in a momentary frown. Neither student was being particularly forthcoming, but at least they didn’t appear to be on the verge of killing each other. This experiment she had embarked upon – choosing these two as Head Boy and Head Girl – was far from assured, but incremental steps were better than nothing and probably all she could expect at this early point in the term. Odd, though, the way both of them were stonewalling and obviously champing at the bit to get away. She’d thought Hermione Granger, at least, would have a better attitude.

“I shall expect a written report from the two of you with a good deal more detail than you’ve chosen to share today. Is that quite clear?”

They nodded.

“You may go,” the headmistress said, waving a hand at them in a weary gesture of dismissal.

They stood, Hermione inadvertently brushing up against Draco. He sat back down abruptly, pressing clammy palms to his upper thighs and wishing they were hers instead. That one moment of contact, in which the pleated, woollen skirt swished against his leg and her hip had pressed against his, had set his imagination racing once again. There had been a shapely, bare leg beneath that little skirt. Two of them, in fact. Imagine, he found himself thinking, if the skirt had been even shorter. What if he were to hike it up really high, flipping up the hem so that the tender flesh of her thighs was completely exposed right up to the sweet juncture between them? And what would he find there? Did she shave in that most private of places? Or keep it neatly trimmed? That must be it, he decided happily. She was neat and methodical in everything else she did, so surely, her pussy would be no different. 

Suddenly, he was aware that both Hermione and McGonagall were staring at him. With an embarrassed little laugh, he got to his feet. 

“Well…” he began with forced cheeriness. “If there’s nothing else...” 

The headmistress shook her head, bemused. Best keep a close eye on Draco Malfoy, she decided. His behaviour had become decidedly odd of late, and it appeared to be worsening. These fog-like mental lapses of his would need to be discussed with his parents if they continued much longer.

 

That night

The clock on the sitting room mantel appeared to be stuck on half-past the hour – either that, or Draco had glanced at it far too often. His mates would be here any minute, and Granger still hadn’t left. In fact, she seemed to be taking her sweet time on purpose.

“What’s the matter, Granger, forget something? You’ve only checked your book bag fifteen times in the last half hour.” 

He got up from the sofa where he’d been stretched out and stood before her. 

“Well,” Hermione replied, her chin lifting defiantly, “I’m just making sure I haven’t left anything behind that I might need. After all, I’ve been banned from here for the night, haven’t I. Which really isn’t fair, you know. I mean, I live here too.”

“Oh, you can come back tonight if you really want to,” he said offhandedly. “’Course, I can’t guarantee anybody’s manners or even if they’ll be remotely coherent. Or whether they’ll manage to keep the contents of their stomachs where they belong instead of down the front of your shirt.” 

He paused to eye said region, noting with a twinge of longing that verged almost on pain that her red cashmere jumper clung fetchingly to a pair of really nice tits. He didn’t often get to see them like this, as more often than not, they were hidden beneath Granger’s house robes. Swallowing hard, he resurrected his casual smirk, shrugging lightly. “Yes, do come back early, Granger. You might find the proceedings... _entertaining_.”

“Thanks,” she answered drily. “But I think I’ll pass. Have fun.”

And with that, she scooped up her book bag and a satchel with overnight things and marched out of their quarters, the door locking with a decisive click behind her.

Ten minutes later, Draco could hear voices just outside the entrance to the Heads’ suite. 

“Oi, Malfoy, let us in!” “Dying of thirst out here, mate!” 

Grinning, Draco unlocked the door, and a clutch of Slytherins piled in from the corridor. Nott, Goyle, and Zabini were there, of course, as well as Michael Harper, a seventh year, and a pair of fifth years who’d tagged along hopefully.

“Baddock and Pritchard,” Blaise said by way of introduction, shrugging apologetically as he glanced over at the two fifteen-year-olds. “Insisted on coming. We thought, what the fuck, it’s their funeral.”

“Well, if nothing else, it’ll put hair on their scrawny chests,” Draco snickered. “Got to hand it to them, though. It took balls.”

“Which is precisely why they’re in our house,” Theo put in, chuckling. “Anyway, gents, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

A large chest was produced from its hiding place in Draco’s wardrobe and dragged to the middle of the floor. Inside was a sizeable stash of firewhiskey and dark ale. Bottles were quickly distributed and before long, everyone was busy getting quite cheerfully pissed.

About an hour in, somebody produced a deck of cards and a few hands of poker were played. All went swimmingly until Goyle got sick all over the cards. At that point, the deck was retired (“Burn the bloody things!” Zabini yelled, holding his nose), and the group moved to the sofas and chairs, some sprawling bonelessly on the rug.

“A challenge,” Blaise slurred, raising his bottle. “Greatest wizard of all time?”

“Salazar Slytherin, you horse’s arse,” Theo snorted. “Everybody knows that.”

“Merlin?” Graham Pritchard ventured timidly. He’d already sicked up quite a lot of ale and was looking a bit green.

“Oh well, yeah... _Merlin_.” Merlin was beyond ordinary classification. He was _legend_. Draco gave a derisive laugh. “No-brainer, fuckwit. He doesn’t count.”

“Gandalf, then,” Michael Harper declared, grinning lopsidedly at nobody in particular and then letting out a belch.

Blaise sighed, rolling his eyes. “He doesn’t bloody count either, Harper. He wasn’t _real_.”

“You lot are fucking pathetic!” Draco declared. “Anyway, it really should be somebody within living memory. More of a challenge. I say...” Pausing, he glanced around the room. “I say Dumbledore.”

You could have heard a pin drop. 

“You’re joking. You mean that?” This from Goyle, who was staring at Draco, his mouth hanging open.

The fact that the room was spinning was probably addling his thoughts, because something had just come out of his mouth that he’d never meant to say. But say it he had, and there was no going back. “Well, maybe not _the_ greatest. But... you know... really good. Changed my mind, didn’t I,” he added defensively, seeing the dumbfounded expression on everyone’s face. “I mean, shit, he... I just wish...”

He paused again, then appeared to think better of what he’d been about to say. Instead, he raised his bottle in a gesture that looked suspiciously like defiance. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter. A toast – to Dumbledore!” With that, he downed the remains of his firewhiskey and reached for another bottle.

Malfoy deep in his cups wasn’t a pretty sight, the others decided amongst themselves. Suddenly, he’d turned morose, withdrawn, weirdly sentimental, almost belligerent. Time to liven things up.

“Game time!” Theo declared, with a flourish. He produced a box, setting it down on the small coffee table between the sofas. “Inside this box is the destiny of one of you wankers. I have here some straws. I will select precisely seven. I will then cut one. Zabini here will mix the straws up and put them back in my hand. Each of you will then choose a straw. Eyes shut now.”

The other five dutifully stood there, eyes closed, while Theo cut one straw. Then Blaise placed all the straws in his friend’s fist, Theo himself arranging them so that they appeared to be the same length.

“Right. Open your eyes.” Theo extended his fist, the straws sticking out, fan-like, from between his fingers, turning to Goyle first. “Choose.”

Goyle hesitated, then yanked a straw out of Theo’s hand and stared at it. Long. Breathing a sigh of relief, he grinned goofily and stepped back.

Michael Harper was next. Swaying slightly, he reached for a straw, pulling it from between Nott’s fingers and eyeballing it. It was long, and he raised a triumphant fist in the air – after which he lost his balance, sitting down hard on the sofa.

Down the line Theo went, offering the straws to everyone. By the time he reached Draco, only two straws remained, one of them the short one. 

“Right,” he said. “Your turn, mate.”

Draco smiled charmingly. “Tell you what. I’ll be generous. You can go first.”

Theo shook his head. “Can’t. I’m holding them. I get whatever’s left. Go on, then.”

Draco stared at the fist inches from his face and considered. There was a fifty-fifty chance he would get the short straw no matter which one he chose. Crap odds. Taking a breath, he made his choice.

The straw slid out from between Theo’s fingers very quickly as Draco pulled. Too quickly. 

Immediately, a chorus of hoots and laughter exploded around Draco. 

“Right!” Theo snickered, nodding in satisfaction. “Short straw goes to Malfoy. That means…” He paused, stooping to snag the box from the coffee table, flipping open the lid, and withdrawing an envelope marked with Draco’s name. “... this, old cock, belongs to you.”

With everyone grinning wickedly around him, Draco took the envelope from Theo and ripped it open, pulling out the folded paper inside. Each task had been crafted with particular consideration for its recipient’s proclivities and talents – or what his house mates thought would be especially just deserts. Draco’s was no exception.

Quickly, he scanned the words, his mouth beginning to twitch.

“Out loud, Malfoy,” Zabini commanded, smirking. “Those are the rules.”

“ ‘Draco Malfoy must complete the following challenge within the next fortnight,’” he read. “ ‘Describe in detail three distinct physical features Hermione Granger possesses that could only be observed by viewing Ms. Granger completely naked. Incontrovertible proof must be provided, i.e. photos. Word of mouth will be insufficient. Failure to provide such proof will result in a forfeiture of the challenge, in which case a penalty will be exacted.’” Draco glanced at the leering faces all around him and tossed off a cocky little laugh. “Piece of cake, gentlemen.”

“Don’t be so sure, mate,” Nott warned, with a cryptic smile. “You’ve got until…” He checked his watch. “... exactly ten minutes before midnight on Monday night, the 16th. We’ll expect you in our common room then, Malfoy. If you don’t show, we’ll come to collect you.”

“No worries, I’ll be there,” Draco scoffed. “Proof in hand.”

As he closed the door behind them and set about sorting the disaster that was now the sitting room, thoughts of his task loomed large. It really was ingeniously devised, he had to concede, and he found himself unable to wipe the tickled grin off his face. They knew how he felt about Granger, and they were offering him a made-to-order opportunity to act on those feelings. He really would have to thank them once the task was done.

 

*

 

 

The question of just how to go about the task occupied Draco’s thoughts almost continuously after that. He attended all his classes, but his mind was invariably elsewhere: if Granger were anywhere in the vicinity, he would find his gaze gravitating to whatever portion of her anatomy he could see best. A bare arm was enough to arrest his attention and set him wool-gathering. A wrist, naked except for a delicate, silver bracelet, made him want to lift it to his lips and press a kiss to the tender flesh. The French braid into which she sometimes wove her hair was often nearly close enough to touch when he was seated behind her, giving off an enticing perfume from her shampoo. But even better was the slender neck it revealed. There was no way he could pay attention to lessons when the object of his desire was practically sitting in his lap, inviting his caresses.

When he wasn’t fixating on specific parts of Granger’s body, he was actively going about devising a plan for seeing the rest of it, unencumbered by clothing. Eventually, it came down to one idea: a tiny, hidden camera fitted into the shower head in her bathroom, and perhaps another in her bedroom. Where exactly he would put that one, he hadn’t quite worked out yet. All he needed were a couple of well-chosen shots and the requirement for proof would be satisfied.

He pondered the obvious logistical problems nearly to the exclusion of all other thought, walking about frowning in deepest concentration and causing those around him to wonder if he’d finally gone off the deep end. His closest friends merely smiled at each other knowingly. 

The solution quite literally fell into his lap late on Wednesday afternoon.

Sprawled comfortably and dozing in his usual spot on one of the sofas, a book lying open and unread on his face, he didn’t stir when the tumblers in the door lock clicked and Hermione entered their suite. Nose buried in a book, she hurried towards her room. Suddenly, her left foot caught the leg of the coffee table and she went flying, landing squarely on an unsuspecting Draco. 

"Oof!" he grunted, the wind thoroughly knocked out of him. "What the fuck are you trying to do, Granger? Kill me in my sleep?"

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" she began, flustered and red-faced, awkwardly scrambling to gather herself with even the smallest shred of dignity and failing miserably. "I tripped! Are you okay?"

In truth, it was a golden moment he would later replay in his head countless times. She was now lying full-length on top of him, her warm body pressed quite intimately to his. As she tried to pull herself off him, she inadvertently pressed even harder against certain sensitive parts of his anatomy, eliciting a noticeably enthusiastic response. Abruptly, a look of surprise crossed her face, and she sprang off him, eyes wide and the rosy colour already flooding her cheeks deepening. 

Draco had revelled in the sensations the all-too-brief contact had just elicited, wanting more. Not knowing quite what to do with his frustration, he merely glared at her now.

"So sorry... my fault. Very clumsy of me. I'll just..." Backing away, she turned and fled into her room. As she did, he noticed that she was limping, her lips pursed in obvious pain. 

Later, when she didn't return to their quarters after dinner, he wondered, but he didn't have to wonder for long. There was a knock at the door shortly before eight PM. It was Ginny Weasley. 

"Malfoy," she said curtly, thrusting a piece of folded parchment at him. He took it, looking at her and then the note quizzically.

"Dear Mr. Malfoy," the florid script read. "This is to inform you that the Head Girl has sprained her ankle and is in the hospital wing for the night. She should be quite well by tomorrow and able to return to her usual routine. Tonight, however, she requires rest and healing, as the ankle is quite swollen and painful. Kindly allow Miss Weasley to gather whatever Miss Granger needs in the way of personal items and books. Cordially, Poppy Pomfrey."

Ginny raised an eyebrow, waiting, and then she brushed past him, disappearing into Hermione's room. She emerged ten minutes later with a book bag and overnight satchel, nodding briefly in his direction before vanishing out the door. 

"Goodbye to you, too," Draco muttered after her. “Cow.”

Well, well. He had the place all to himself tonight. Not bad. Not bad at all. Fixing himself a cup of cocoa, he sat down on the sofa, his feet up on the coffee table, and looked about appreciatively, enjoying the silence. No Granger bustling about, all officious and organised and relentlessly, almost inhumanly studious. No Granger, insisting that she was cold when he was feeling decidedly warm and could they turn up the heat, or the other way round. No Granger, proclaiming that weekday evenings should be devoted to studying and frowning on the idea of friends dropping round for a hand or two of poker. 

No Granger in an absurdly oversized t-shirt and baggy pyjama trousers, strolling through the sitting room on her way to the tiny galley kitchen to fix herself a cup of cocoa such as he was having now. One generous dollop of whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon and shaved chocolate. She had it that way every time, and looking down at his mug, he realised that he'd begun doing the same without even noticing. 

No Granger curled up on the sofa just after a bath, wearing that hideous old dressing gown of hers (could a garment possibly look more manky and threadbare than that one? _Comfy_ , that's what she'd called it when he'd pointed out the hole in one elbow), her legs tucked up under her and her newly washed hair curling about flushed cheeks as she opened a book and settled in to read for a while. No brows drawn in concentration, no tiny pink tongue tip darting out to moisten her lips, no thoughtful nibbling on that lovely bottom lip as she gave herself over to whatever it was she was engrossed in. 

Frowning, Draco tossed back the dregs of his cocoa and set the mug down with a bang. Suddenly, this wasn't as enjoyable as he'd thought. No Granger to needle was boring. And no Granger to study when he was sure she wasn't noticing was just no fun, period. He sat back amongst the cushions, prepared to sulk for a bit.

_Wait._

He sat bolt upright. 

Of _course_. What was the matter with him? Was he completely thick, for fuck's sake? Having the whole night alone in the suite was a gift from the bloody gods. Jumping to his feet, he hurried into his room to gather together what he needed, chuckling to himself. Granger would arrive back tomorrow, healed, happy, and completely oblivious to the fact that from that moment on, her every move would be preserved for posterity. 

This task was in the proverbial bag. And his fantasies were on the verge of becoming a most delectable reality.

 

*

 

 

5 November  
Thursday evening

 

The deed was done. Two cameras – one he’d filched from his father and sneaked to school unbeknownst to the elder Malfoy, the other borrowed from Theo (“All in a good cause,” Draco had assured him) – had been magically Shrunk down to the size of a sunflower seed and hidden where they would capture the best views of the Head Girl, one inside the shower head and the other embedded in the frame of her dressing table mirror. One camera would back the other up, in case something malfunctioned. 

Now it was just a matter of waiting for Granger to return. She’d been in afternoon classes, limping only slightly, and in the Great Hall for supper. He supposed she was probably in the library, making up for lost time spent languishing in the hospital wing. Still, the minutes crawled by, as he tried to concentrate on his own homework. The minute hand on the mantel clock moved at what seemed a snail’s pace, thunking like a metronome as it made its way around the face of the clock.

Half eight. Nine o’clock. Nine-twenty. Quarter to ten. Where the fuck was she, anyway?

Throwing down his quill, he began to pace, running a hand distractedly through his hair. A well of pent-up energy was ready to spill, and he wasn’t sure he could contain it much longer if she didn’t show up soon.

Just when he was certain he’d worn a path in the rug, the door opened.

“Granger!”

She stared at him, startled by the vehemence of his greeting. 

“Er... that is to say... well, well... you’re back, are you?” Draco plastered a smirk on his face and sank back in one of the armchairs, affecting nonchalance. “Couldn’t you have got old Pomfrey to keep you a bit longer, then? I was rather enjoying the peace and quiet.”

“Gosh, thanks, Malfoy. Nice to see you, too,” Hermione muttered, heading towards her room. The door closed with a decisive click and he could hear her book bag hitting the floor.

A few minutes later, water began banging through the old pipes, and Draco felt his blood quicken. _She was in the shower. At last._

 _Shit, if only_... he found himself thinking, nearly beside himself with anticipation. Suddenly, he didn’t want to wait for the photos, not when he knew she was naked right now, mere feet away.

Could he? Was there a way? _Hang on. There **was.**_ How the hell had he not thought of this earlier?

Like their bedrooms, their showers shared a common wall. It would be a simple matter to poke the tiniest of holes in the grouting. A pinprick would be sufficient, along with a Charmed magnifying glass, an Ocularis Resizer. He’d picked one up cheap years ago as a kid in Diagon Alley and had held onto it ever since, a relic of his boyhood. One never knew when such a device might come in useful, after all. It already had done, any number of times over the years. Practically a house requirement to own one. Quickly, he retrieved the small, round glass from the desk drawer and grabbed his wand.

Quite pleased with his own ingenuity, Draco went into his bathroom and drew back the shower curtain. This would have to be done delicately, considering she was just on the other side of the wall. Drawing his wand, he aimed it at a spot about shoulder height.

“ _Transfigo!_ ” he whispered, and instantly, a microscopic hole appeared in the old grouting, just enough to allow a speck of light from the other side to shine through. It would never be detected, but it would give him exactly what he sought: a perfect view of Granger in the shower.

His heart thudding, he raised the Ocularis Resizer to the hole and peered through it. The sight that greeted him stole his breath away.

His first view was of her back, water sluicing down past her shoulders, past a tiny waist and firm, nicely rounded buttocks to slim thighs and calves, and pooling in soapy islands around her feet. She had hot-pink toenails, he noted with some surprise.

Her skin was alabaster with sprinklings, here and there, of tiny, pale freckles like small constellations. What had enchanted him on her nose and cheeks, he found doubly delightful on a shoulder or the back of a thigh. Then she turned around, ducking her head under the cascading water, her hair falling past her shoulders in a sleek, chestnut stream, and Draco thought his heart would stop completely.

At last, he saw what he’d only ever imagined for ages. Two perfect breasts, not large but certainly not small either, perky and beautifully shaped, more of those tiny, adorable freckles on the smooth, white flesh, and a pair of rosy nipples, perfectly erect under the onslaught of the water. Below the flat belly, he found the answer to his question about her twat: it was neatly trimmed, not shaven, just as he’d secretly hoped.

She was humming tunelessly to herself as she methodically soaped all parts of her body. And as she raised first one leg and then the other to shave them (giving him a perfect and quite intimate view of her pussy), as she soaped her underarms and then spread the foamy lather liberally over her breasts, Draco felt the hot blood thundering in his cheeks and then shooting south. One hand found its way to the button on his jeans, and roughly, he yanked it open and pulled the zip down, thrusting his hand inside and gripping his cock, already swollen and aching. The jeans were soon down around his ankles, along with his underwear, and he stood in the tub, bent slightly, one eye to the glass over the hole and a hand frantically pulling at his turgid member.

It was when she threw her head back, tweaking her nipples with one hand while slipping the fingers of the other between her legs, that he knew he was a goner. One throaty moan from her and his balls, ever more tightly clenching, exploded. With a Herculean effort, he managed not to cry out, but his cum was everywhere, splattering the shower wall and running down it in creamy white rivulets. More of it dripped down his legs, pooling in the clothing tangled about his ankles.

Reluctantly, his thighs still trembling, he wrested his gaze from the hole, stepped out of his sodden clothing, and turned on the shower. As he stood under the water, his breathing and heart rate slowing at last, he began to grin. 

_Holy shit!_ He could barely wrap his mind around what had just happened. 

And then, _Wait. FUCK..._ Silently, he cursed himself as he remembered something. His task was to find three distinctive features on Granger’s naked body, but he had been so enthralled with watching her, just _seeing_ her finally, that he hadn’t bothered to look for anything really specific. Tits, pussy and arse, all of them fucking amazing, would that do? No, he didn’t reckon it would.

Well, he’d just have to do this all over again. Draco sighed happily. It would be a sacrifice, of course, but he’d man up and do it. 

Gladly. With bells on.

In that moment, all thoughts of the cameras flew straight out of his head, and the only thing Draco could think about was how soon he could have such a sublime experience again.

Time seemed to pass in a blur now. The one thing that stood out – to everyone except Draco – was his behaviour around Hermione. Whereas in the past, he would either ignore her or make fun of her habits or some aspect of her appearance, a necessary ruse, now he seemed to fall into a semi-coherent daze whenever she was anywhere nearby, with no attempt to hide it. If Hermione herself noticed, she had to be pretending otherwise, so the general consensus went, though how there could even be an “if” was beyond anyone’s comprehension. 

“Oi, Malfoy!” somebody hooted as they were sitting down in class the following morning. Hermione had just entered the room, seating herself several rows ahead of Draco. He’d been staring wistfully at her rear end as she sat down, picturing it beneath the billowing house robes. “Better start wearing a bib, mate. You’re drooling.” 

Only a sharp poke in the ribs from Blaise seemed to jar Draco out of his fog. “What’s the matter with you, Malfoy?” he whispered. Then the proverbial light bulb seemed to go off and he grinned wickedly, dropping his voice even lower. “You’ve done it, haven’t you. You’ve seen her.” 

Draco nodded numbly. 

“What’s she like, then, eh? Is she gorgeous?” Blaise’s excitement and curiosity were mounting. 

Just then, the subject in question turned her head ever so slightly in his general direction, paused, and then quickly looked straight ahead again. She was blushing. 

“Gorgeous,” Draco echoed, feeling even more thoroughly undone. “Yeah.” 

“Well, don’t forget, you’ve got ten days to deliver. No bullshit. Either you come through or you forfeit.” He snickered quietly. “Easy peasy, though, yeah? You’ve got this, no worries.”

“No worries.” Draco repeated the words, but his mind was obviously elsewhere. Three rows up and four seats over. 

Blaise shook his head, chuckling softly to himself. ‘Oh man,’ he thought. ‘You are so fucked.’

That evening, contrary to every other Friday night, Draco was hanging about the sitting room, uncharacteristically indecisive. Even Hermione noticed. She’d wandered into the sitting room wearing the old dressing gown that Draco had grown weirdly fond of, newly washed hair wrapped, turban-like, in a towel, and plumped herself down in one of the armchairs, drying her hair off until it fell in damp curls and waves about her shoulders. About to reach for a book on the adjacent table, she paused, looking at him curiously.

“No plans tonight, Malfoy?” she asked. “You’re never here on a Friday night.”

He shrugged, studying his fingernails. He was having difficulty looking at her directly, now that he knew what was underneath the dressing gown.

“What about you, then? _You’re_ here,” he replied.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, but I’m practically always here.”

Draco stretched, feigning casual indifference. “You really ought to get out more, Granger,” he told her glibly. “Do you good. Now me, I’m generally out more than I’m in. Tonight’s an exception. Off night. Everybody has ‘em now and then.”

“Oh yes,” she said, with a sage nod. “Because it couldn’t possibly be that you just have nothing to do and nobody to do it with.” She looked at him squarely then, one eyebrow raised. “Answer the question, Malfoy. Why _are_ you here, anyway?”

He couldn’t tell her the truth, of course. Because what would that truth be, exactly? That he just wanted to hang around her. At this point, he almost didn’t care what she was doing, or even whether she was clothed or stark naked, although starkers would be very nice indeed. It was almost more fun to imagine what he wasn’t seeing, looking at the curve of her neck or a bare lower leg as she tucked it up under herself in the chair. He knew what those beautiful breasts looked like, hidden beneath the shadowy folds of the tatty, old dressing gown. Just imagining them now was firing his blood, making him feel restless and pleasurably keyed up. He wanted to get closer and take a whiff of her freshly shampooed hair. What product had she used this time? Was it the almond-scented stuff, or the vanilla? 

“Uh… decided to study, didn’t I. Yeah, that’s it. Study. We’ve got NEWTs coming up, you know –”

“Of course I know!” Hermione interrupted, incredulous.

“Yeah, well, so I thought, what about an early night, eh? Stay in, have some cocoa, crack a book or two. Could be… fun.” He was blathering and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself. And... holy crap, she seemed to be buying it. Or at least she wasn’t laughing hysterically at the very notion that he might want to stay in and swot. That was something.

She studied him for a very long moment, seeming to decide whether or not his story was remotely believable, and then she smiled shyly. “Actually, I was planning on doing some studying too. Maybe we could –”

“Work together. Excellent idea! I’ll make the cocoa.” And with almost ridiculous eagerness, he shot up from the sofa where he’d been lounging and hurried into the tiny kitchenette. This evening was working out far better than he could ever have imagined.

When he came back in with two mugs on a tray, she accepted one of them, bringing it to her nose to breathe in its rich aroma. She took a sip, her tongue darting out to lick a clot of whipped cream from her upper lip, and then frowned.

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?”

Draco shook his head with a sigh. “You disappoint me, Granger. So suspicious. Not an attractive quality.”

Sitting back, Hermione cradled the warm mug between her palms and gazed at him, openly sceptical now. “Well, the Malfoy I know has never done anything without a reason. I mean, you’ve even made my cocoa just the way I like it.”

“Have I?” he asked lightly, taking a sip of his own. “I hadn’t noticed. As it happens, this is how I like it too.”

Her eyebrows rose a tad but she said nothing. A few minutes passed, both of them silently draining their mugs, and then she leaned forward.

“Why’d you come back to school this year? You didn’t have to.”

Draco shrugged. “Wanted to sit my NEWTs, didn’t I, same as you.”

“And that’s why you study so very hard. Come on, ‘fess up, Malfoy. The _real_ reason.” Hermione set down her cocoa and now she did start laughing. 

Something about her laughing that way... Suddenly, he was feeling defensive and exposed – angry, almost. The words began spewing from his mouth, unchecked. 

“What the hell is so funny? Look, I just wanted… I wanted a chance to get it right finally, okay? I really fucked up sixth year, and then last year... well, you weren’t here. Whatever shit you might’ve heard from time to time, wherever the hell you were, it was a bloody nightmare here.” _Here and at home_, he remembered. The recollection was bitter. Painful. “This year was a chance to put things right. For _me_ , yeah? And for… for this place. For Dumbledore. I know what he did for me.” Swallowing hard, Draco stared down at his hands folded in his lap, his final thoughts unbidden whispers in his head. _And for you, Granger. So you could know, finally, how I feel... that I’ve changed... that I’m sorry..._

When he looked up, Hermione was staring at him, dumbfounded.

“I’m so sorry, Draco! I didn’t realise… Of _course_ you should be here, just as much as anybody! Look, do you still want to study together tonight? Because…” She trailed off, looking at him hopefully.

The idea that telling the whole, unvarnished truth could wind up advancing his cause was almost too good to be true, but there it was.

Draco grinned, relief, amazement, and elation sweeping over him. “Yeah. Why not?”

 

*

 

 

The hours passed, and surprisingly, Granger proved a good study partner. She wasn’t bossy or pedantic, as he’d expected, just thorough, well organised, and calmly methodical. She challenged him often, but he never felt threatened or belittled, as he’d have anticipated. As he might have made her feel in the past. No, scratch that. As he _would_ have made her feel.

Finally, Hermione stood up and stretched. “I’m knackered, aren’t you? I’m going to bed. ‘Night, Malfoy.” With a final smile, she swept up her books and papers and headed off to her room.

Draco watched her go, disappointed. He’d hoped for some post-swot time with her as well. It was a start, though. And how nice it had been, sitting so close to her on the sofa. He’d smelt the clean, fresh scents of soap and shampoo (almond), enjoyed the inadvertent press of her thigh against his as she shifted in her seat to reach for a book, and come that close to playing with a tendril of her hair as it fell forward in front of her eyes. 

Suddenly, an idea insinuated itself into his thoughts. He didn’t have to call it a night, not quite yet. Why not see what she was up to right now? 

A minute later, he had positioned himself on his bed, lying on his stomach, elbows on his pillows and his wand pointing to the wall behind them.

“ _Transfigo!_ ” he whispered, and a hole no bigger than the head of a pin appeared in the plaster. Light from Hermione’s room streamed through it like a tiny beacon. Raising the Ocularis Resizer to the hole, he leaned in.

Shit. She’d already put on a little sleep shirt, though at least her legs were still bare. No pyjama trousers. Instantly, his imagination was firing on all cylinders as he pictured the sort of knickers she might be wearing. _Assuming she’s wearing any_ , a lascivious voice in his head reminded him, and instantly, he began to get hard inside his jeans.

Granger was humming happily to herself and brushing her teeth as she organised her desk. He laughed softly. Now that was taking multi-tasking to a whole new level. She disappeared into the loo for a moment, reappeared, and then hopped into bed, switching off the bedside lamp and expelling a deep, contented sigh as she snuggled down beneath the quilts. 

Fuck. He’d missed the whole show. This was the boring bit. On the verge of closing the hole and giving it up as a bad job, Draco heard a strange sound. It was very low and sounded pained, but… not. There it was again. And again. A series of moans in fact, high-pitched, breathy and insistent, and now he knew exactly what she was doing. 

_Merlin’s balls_. He strained to see better through the dim light and could just make out her figure in the bed. Her knees were bent so that the quilt made a sort of tent, and under that tent, she was doing all sorts of unspeakably delicious things to herself. 

_Oh gods oh gods oh gods_. His breaths were coming in shallow pants now, keeping pace with hers, and a light sheen of sweat dotted his forehead. Kicking off his jeans and underwear, he lay on his side, pulling at himself furiously as he peered through the hole. 

Fucking hell, it didn’t take much for her to bring herself off! From the sounds she was making, she was almost there. How had he never noticed her doing this before? And then he knew. She’d soundproofed her room, but the hole he’d just made had breached that protective barrier.

Suddenly, she let out a ragged, urgent cry, and that was it. Draco shot his load, spattering the wall and his bed with a prodigious amount of viscous, white cum. But what filled his mind, even as he lay there, utterly spent, was _what_ she had shouted.

 _Draco_.

She’d shouted _Draco_. 

And now he knew two things for certain: 

1\. She fancied him too. ( _Holy shit!_ )

2\. There was no way he could go through with the task.

 

*

 

 

Three days later, everything came crashing down around his ears.

A week remained until the deadline, but Draco had already decided to dismantle the cameras, destroy their contents, and pay the penalty, whatever it was. Then he’d ask Granger out on a proper date. It was either that or go completely round the bend, and he rather valued his sanity.

One camera down, one to go. Just as soon as he could sneak back into her bathroom.

Unfortunately, Fate had another scenario in mind. It was an ordinary Monday night, supper was over, and both were quietly doing homework in their respective rooms. Or so Draco thought. A sudden, irate banging on his door nearly stopped his heart. He opened it to find a livid Granger wearing nothing but a towel, her wand in one hand and waving what looked like a sunflower seed in his face with the other.

“What,” she roared, “did you suppose you were doing with this ingenious little thing? I’ll tell you! Spying on me, that’s what! How dare you, Malfoy! And I actually believed we were starting to be friends! I really thought you’d changed! I’m such an idiot! I might never even have noticed, except the water’s gone a bit wonky tonight, and it came out in spurts. This… this _thing_ popped right out into my hand!”

“But –” Draco began.

“Don’t bother to deny it, Malfoy! I know it was you. Why’d you do it?”

“Black Monday. I drew the short straw.”

Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust, remaining silent and tight-lipped with fury as she waited for an explanation.

“If you draw the short straw, you get a task, see. Mine was to report on three features of your body I could only know about if I saw you naked. And get photos to prove it. But I never saw the film. I decided not to turn it in.”

“You? Lose a challenge? Hah.” Hermione’s voice was stone cold, but she was shaking, and he could see angry tears starting.

“Honestly! I’ve destroyed the other camera already. I was going to destroy this one as well. I swear!” Draco was feeling increasingly desperate. “Look, give it to me. I’ll smash it right now.”

“No. I think I’d like that little pleasure, thanks very much.” Smiling icily through her tears, Hermione tossed the tiny camera on the floor and pointed her wand at it.

A quick “ _Incendio!_ " and the camera vanished in a small explosion of flames.

By now, she was crying in earnest. “And by the way, I don’t believe you about the other camera,” she quavered. “Do you really imagine I’m that gullible? I’ll be reporting you first thing tomorrow!”

And with that, she slammed out of the room, Draco staring after her in shock. There was no way he could fix this. She’d never believe him. And neither would McGonagall. His sorry arse would be booted out of school before he could turn around. How could he have been so fucking stupid? It didn’t matter that he’d changed his mind, that he hadn’t even seen the photos. He’d done the deed. He’d seen _her_. And even if nobody else knew that, he knew. 

The worst part was that they really had been getting closer. Moreover, she fancied him. It had all been falling into place for real. But he’d fucked up again, royally this time. 

He gave the door a vicious kick and threw himself onto his bed.

 

*

 

 

On her way to Headmistress McGonagall’s office early the next morning, Hermione was waylaid by several small emergencies that only the Head Girl or Boy could solve. When she finally got free of the last one, she hurried through the corridors and up a staircase. As she passed the second landing, she heard hushed voices coming from behind one of the statues.

“He’s _what?_ You’re joking! Not Malfoy!” That sounded a lot like Goyle.

“Sad to say, mate, but it’s true. He’s forfeited.” Zabini. She was sure of it.

“Why? Did he tell you?” Nott. 

“Nope. He wouldn’t say. You know he fancies her, though,” Zabini whispered. “Has done for years. Who knows, maybe he got lucky and now he doesn’t give a crap about the task. Or maybe he’s grown a conscience.”

There was silence for a beat and then a resounding “Nah” from all three, followed by nasty sniggering.

“Whatever the reason, he’s got nothing," Nott declared. "Absolutely fuck-all. This situation requires a really creative penalty, gents. Malfoy needs a lesson he won’t soon forget.”

Snickering, they stepped out from behind the statue, while Hermione slipped hastily into the shadows of the stairwell to avoid being seen. Five minutes later, she marched back into the Heads’ suite, where Draco was sitting on the sofa, a cup of cold, forgotten coffee before him.

“Do you fancy me?” she demanded, planting herself in front of him.

He looked up at her, standing there like an avenging angel. What the hell, might as well go for broke. He nodded miserably.

“And is that the reason you didn’t go through with the task?”

He nodded again. 

“But why’d you agree to it in the first place?” 

“Told you,” he muttered. “I drew the short straw. I’d never forfeited on anything before. And I’d fancied you for ages. I wanted to do it.”

Hermione sat down opposite him, her wide eyes never leaving his face. “Fancied, as in...”

Draco didn’t blink. “Lust.”

Hermione frowned, perplexed. “So, then… what changed your mind? I don’t understand.”

“You did. Got to know you a bit. And I realised you were all right. More than all right. Look, Granger, I... I like you. Reckon I have done for a while, though I didn’t know it. Funny, yeah?” He laughed briefly. It was a harsh sound. “Probably would’ve liked you all along if I’d ever given you a chance. There’s more, though.”

“What?”

Girding himself, Draco looked her in the eye. “It’s true, I never used the cameras. But I did watch you…”

“How?” Hermione asked warily.

Draco disappeared briefly into his room, returning with the Ocularis Resizer. He dropped it into her open palm. “With this. And a _Transfigo._ ”

“You watched me... doing what? The truth.”

“The first time, you were…” He gulped, forcing himself to say it. “You were taking a shower. I _know_ , it was a really shitty thing to do, and I’m sorry. It’s just... you’re so beautiful, and I got carried away. I couldn’t stop. And then… then, the second time, you were in bed. I couldn’t see you, but I could tell you were touching yourself, and… and you said my name.”

At this, Hermione turned crimson. She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders quaking. Draco stared at her, alarmed. But when she finally looked up at him, she was laughing.

“Oh gods!” she gasped finally. “Screamed it, more like! So you know, then.”

He nodded. “I’d already been feeling kind of bad, but once I found that out, I knew I couldn’t go through with it. Look, Granger – Hermione – d’you reckon we could start over? Do things properly this time? Have I got a chance?”

Hermione regarded Draco thoughtfully. Then a corner of her mouth quirked upwards in the beginnings of a smile. “Perhaps,” she said, and now her smile turned sly. “As long as I can watch you in the shower too. You don’t mind, do you? Fair’s fair, after all.”

All things considered, that offer was a bargain, Draco decided. Besides, his inner exhibitionist was just dying to be let out.

 

 

 

 

 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” This is the beginning line of a 16th-century English nursery rhyme. It’s meant to suggest that just wishing for something is pointless, and that positive action accomplishes much more.
> 
>  _Transfigo_ : the Latin imperative for “pierce,” “make a hole,” “drive into,” or “thrust.”
> 
>  
> 
> Many thanks to my lovely and very supportive beta, misdemeanor1331. It was a pleasure to work with you, Missy!


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